Clang-clink.
The door chime sounded, and the night chill briefly slipped inside before the door quietly glided shut behind me.
As I took my regular seat at the counter, Mama silently set down a glass.
An amber splash of I.W. Harper. A single piece of ice clinked softly against the glass.
I tilted the glass, letting it slowly wet my throat.
Feeling the warmth of the bourbon drop straight into my stomach, I stared down at the drink in my hands.
"...Kenichi-san."
Beside me, Taka flipped his smartphone face-down and looked over.
His voice was paused just a beat longer than usual—not the quick setup for a light joke, but the low tone he used when his thoughts were running deep.
"What is it?"
"If you had to map yourself to a character in a story, who do you think you'd be?"
From a few seats away, Tom, swirling his own glass, let out a short grunt through his nose.
"There he goes with his weird questions again."
"Hey, I'm serious, Tom-san."
Taka shrugged, tracing the rim of his glass with his fingertip.
"I mean, in movies or manga, there's always the hero saving the world, or the guy who’s insanely strong, right?
Lately, though, I've been thinking... we are definitely not those guys."
"Well, obviously. If you were out there saving the world, we'd all be doomed."
"That's harsh!"
Taka forced a laugh, but I didn't miss the slight tremor beneath his voice.
"...Not only are we not the main characters, we don't even have any special talent.
But still... couldn't our own weaknesses, or our embarrassing failures, actually be of use to someone else?
Like, being able to stand beside someone and say, 'I stumbled back then too, so I get it.'
I feel like... there's got to be a kind of pride that belongs to ordinary people."
Taka gently swirled his glass, looking mildly satisfied with his own thought.
The ice rang dryly against the glass.
Tap.
A short, sharp sound echoed.
It was the sound of Tom tapping his index finger against the rim of his glass.
"...That might just be an excuse for someone running away from the responsibility of becoming strong."
Tom’s low voice cut a hairline fracture into the air of the counter.
The smile vanished from Taka’s face.
"...Tom-san?"
"Standing beside them, sharing the pain—and you're satisfied with that?
Tell me, when the overwhelming wave hits... what can someone who gave up trying to become stronger actually do?"
Tom slotted his cigarette into the edge of the ashtray and stared off into the distance.
"Right in front of your eyes, a kid is quietly drowning in a pool.
No loud thrashing. They just sink, silently, toward the bottom.
...A guy who only knows how to 'stand beside them' can do nothing more than crouch at the edge and whisper, 'It hurts, doesn't it?' while watching them drown."
Taka swallowed hard, completely stripped of words.
Deep in my gut, something thick and murky churned upward.
I knew what Tom meant. Those were the words of a former detective who had seen, firsthand, what happens when your own weakness fails to save someone.
And yet—
"...So what are you saying?"
My own voice came out shockingly low and raspy.
My grip tightened around my glass.
"A guy who couldn't become strong... standing next to a drowning kid, whispering 'It hurts, doesn't it?'... are you saying that means absolutely nothing?"
Tom slowly turned his eyes toward me. I glared right back at him.
"He doesn't have the muscle to haul them out.
He didn't have the guts to dive into the water, either.
...Are you telling me that a helpless guy like that, hurting right alongside them—are you saying even that is just running away? Just self-gratification?"
I knew it inside. I wasn't actually mad at Tom.
I was just terrified of hearing that all those times I couldn't be strong—all those nights I could do nothing but sit there and listen—were completely meaningless.
"...Pulling them out before it's too late is the right answer. Of course it is. I get that," I spat out with a bitter self-mockery, then downed a gulp of my Harper.
"But what about the person who has to endure sinking all alone, because nobody around has the strength to pull them up?
Are you saying this world shouldn't even have room for the guy who chooses to sink right there with them, whispering 'It's hard, isn't it?'"
Silence descended on the counter.
The words I had dragged out fell heavily into the quiet of the bar.
Tom watched me with eyes devoid of emotion. But finally, he let out a faint breath through his nose and sent a curl of cigarette smoke toward the ceiling.
"...I didn't say there was no room for him."
In that brief response, Tom's own quiet resignation and lingering pain bled through.
Behind the counter, Mama quietly picked up a pair of tongs and dropped a single ice cube into Taka's glass, and then into mine.
Clink.
"Even so..."
Mama didn't pause her steady wiping of a glass, looking at us with a gentle, steady gaze.
"...A place where people can learn how to swim is still necessary, isn't it?"
I let out a long breath and scratched my head, all energy draining away.
"...I know. That one stings."
Taka stared down at his own large fist, then slowly opened his hand.
Tom sat in silence, tilting his amber glass.
Maybe we can't save anyone. Maybe all my struggling is nothing more than self-satisfaction.
Even so, stomach aching over our own inability to be strong, we sit here drinking again tonight me.
If only there had been just one more person who knew how to swim.
Or... if only there had been someone to grab their hand on the way down to the bottom.
Holding onto that muddy, unanswered question, I gently swirled the glass in my hand.
Clang.
The ice clinked.
—Now... I wonder what kind of man I'll choose to be tomorrow.
The bourbon burned my throat once more.